Read Online Little Boy Blue by Edward Bunker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward Bunker
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purge the hurt in long,
loud, and exhausting tears. Instead he bit his lips while streaks of tears ran
down his cheeks. He couldn’t let go; he’d wake up the others and they
would see his torment. Children were cruel to a child who cried, and these kids
would be more callous than most. He stared at the lighted windows, at the bars,
and he quaked in silence. He was rigid, holding back, but eventually the accumulated
exhaustion of nearly two sleepless nights overcame everything else, and he fell
into a troubled sleep, emitting moans that disturbed nobody.
Chapter 6
6The lights went on
while it was still dark outside. The hard glare seared through Alex’s
eyelids and brought him awake with a start, while against his ears pounded the
clatter of metal banging metal. A man in the doorway was whacking a large key
on the doorframe, yelling, “Reveille… reveille! Up
an’ at ’em!”
Boys were rising ,
some with alacrity, others indolently. Alex raised himself up on his elbows and
looked around, his eyes gritty, feeling out of place but not afraid. More than
half the boys were black or Chicano; the youngest were around his age (only a
couple of them) while the others ranged up to fourteen or fifteen. Talk was
minimal. Everyone ignored everyone else. There was no chatter and no horseplay,
unlike other places he’d been.
“Best hurry,” a voice said, and
Alex turned to look into the pale- yellow, freckled face of a black boy. The
face had a wizened look, and kinky hair exploded from it like hundreds of tiny
watch springs. The pale black boy began tugging his own bed together quite inexpertly.
It was something he had obviously had no experience with.
Alex got up from the bed, put on his clothes,
and joined the hurrying. He straightened the bed, making neat square corners as
he’d been taught in military school. Some of the others knew how, but
many fumbled and tugged, and some tried to slap the rippled blankets down
without tightening the sheets beneath. The freckled black boy was exasperatedly
saying, “Sh… sh… shit,” in jerky phrases, nodding his
head in quick emphasis. He backed into Alex between the bunks and turned with
his lips pursed pugnaciously. Then he saw Alex’s neat bed.
“Man, you done been here before?”
he asked.
Alex shook his head.
“How the fuck you make that bed so
cool?”
“I’ll help you.” Alex did
so, first pulling the sheets tight so the wrinkles disappeared, while the black
boy cocked his head and blinked his eyes, looking angry that Alex could do something
he found so frustrating.
The key banged again on the door, triggering
the boys to a final burst of activity. Then they all took positions beside the foots of the beds and folded their arms. Alex followed
their example.
The man in the doorway—short and
gimp-legged, wearing a cheap, shapeless sweater—now stalked down the
aisle. Where the beds failed to meet his standards, he grabbed the blanket and
tore the bedding to the floor. Nothing was said until he reached the freckled
black boy’s bed. Then the man smiled mirthlessly, showing yellow-stained
teeth. “Seemed to have learned, eh, Chester? Guess you wanna start eating
breakfast.”
“Yassah,” the boy said, grinning.
“What’s funny, Chester?”
The boy’s face went blank in an
instant. “Nothing, Mr. Barnes.”
Mr. Barnes grunted, stalked back to the door,
and whacked it with his key. The boys whose beds had passed inspection formed a
line in front of him. The others had to stay behind.
In columns of two the boys going to breakfast
marched down the long corridor of the night before, the leading pair stopping
at prearranged places so the column and the gimpy man didn’t straggle.
The twenty boys from Alex’s dorm were joined by those of two others,
making a group of about sixty. Alex saw the two Mexicans he’d fought
with, but they ignored him. Absolute silence was required, and the boys also
had to walk with their arms folded across their chests,
loud, and exhausting tears. Instead he bit his lips while streaks of tears ran
down his cheeks. He couldn’t let go; he’d wake up the others and they
would see his torment. Children were cruel to a child who cried, and these kids
would be more callous than most. He stared at the lighted windows, at the bars,
and he quaked in silence. He was rigid, holding back, but eventually the accumulated
exhaustion of nearly two sleepless nights overcame everything else, and he fell
into a troubled sleep, emitting moans that disturbed nobody.
Chapter 6
6The lights went on
while it was still dark outside. The hard glare seared through Alex’s
eyelids and brought him awake with a start, while against his ears pounded the
clatter of metal banging metal. A man in the doorway was whacking a large key
on the doorframe, yelling, “Reveille… reveille! Up
an’ at ’em!”
Boys were rising ,
some with alacrity, others indolently. Alex raised himself up on his elbows and
looked around, his eyes gritty, feeling out of place but not afraid. More than
half the boys were black or Chicano; the youngest were around his age (only a
couple of them) while the others ranged up to fourteen or fifteen. Talk was
minimal. Everyone ignored everyone else. There was no chatter and no horseplay,
unlike other places he’d been.
“Best hurry,” a voice said, and
Alex turned to look into the pale- yellow, freckled face of a black boy. The
face had a wizened look, and kinky hair exploded from it like hundreds of tiny
watch springs. The pale black boy began tugging his own bed together quite inexpertly.
It was something he had obviously had no experience with.
Alex got up from the bed, put on his clothes,
and joined the hurrying. He straightened the bed, making neat square corners as
he’d been taught in military school. Some of the others knew how, but
many fumbled and tugged, and some tried to slap the rippled blankets down
without tightening the sheets beneath. The freckled black boy was exasperatedly
saying, “Sh… sh… shit,” in jerky phrases, nodding his
head in quick emphasis. He backed into Alex between the bunks and turned with
his lips pursed pugnaciously. Then he saw Alex’s neat bed.
“Man, you done been here before?”
he asked.
Alex shook his head.
“How the fuck you make that bed so
cool?”
“I’ll help you.” Alex did
so, first pulling the sheets tight so the wrinkles disappeared, while the black
boy cocked his head and blinked his eyes, looking angry that Alex could do something
he found so frustrating.
The key banged again on the door, triggering
the boys to a final burst of activity. Then they all took positions beside the foots of the beds and folded their arms. Alex followed
their example.
The man in the doorway—short and
gimp-legged, wearing a cheap, shapeless sweater—now stalked down the
aisle. Where the beds failed to meet his standards, he grabbed the blanket and
tore the bedding to the floor. Nothing was said until he reached the freckled
black boy’s bed. Then the man smiled mirthlessly, showing yellow-stained
teeth. “Seemed to have learned, eh, Chester? Guess you wanna start eating
breakfast.”
“Yassah,” the boy said, grinning.
“What’s funny, Chester?”
The boy’s face went blank in an
instant. “Nothing, Mr. Barnes.”
Mr. Barnes grunted, stalked back to the door,
and whacked it with his key. The boys whose beds had passed inspection formed a
line in front of him. The others had to stay behind.
In columns of two the boys going to breakfast
marched down the long corridor of the night before, the leading pair stopping
at prearranged places so the column and the gimpy man didn’t straggle.
The twenty boys from Alex’s dorm were joined by those of two others,
making a group of about sixty. Alex saw the two Mexicans he’d fought
with, but they ignored him. Absolute silence was required, and the boys also
had to walk with their arms folded across their chests,
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